Travelling Thoughts

Today’s writing prompt asks: “How do significant life events or the passage of time influence your perspective on life?” Looking back from today, February 2026, my life feels like it is a map where the ink is only just beginning to dry. At nearly 50, I’ve finally understood that the “me” from thirty years ago wasn’t lost—they were just following small signs they couldn’t yet read. In hindsight, everything has mapped out exactly as it was meant to happen, even the parts I very much tried to ignore.

Part 1: The Exit Interview and a Forgotten Warning

It was back in the mid-90s, when I came to terms with my identity as part of the LGBTQ+ community in one moment on a final day of high school. In the social climate, when Internet was still a luxury,  I often wondered if I was the only one in the world with my feelings, and later on found myself in the crosshairs of fundamentalist Christians. The oppression I felt from the religious circles back in the day made leaving the Lutheran Church feel like the only way to breathe.

Back then, leaving the church wasn’t just a matter of clicking a box; it required a formal discussion with a priest. I remember that hour-long chat vividly. As I stood up to leave, the priest looked at me and said: “I wouldn’t be surprised if God called you back one day.”

I remember rolling my eyes internally. I didn’t pay much attention to it then—I was too busy walking toward the “Mists of Avalon” and the earthy, inclusive freedom of Wicca.

Part 2: The Creed of Responsibility and the Hard “No”

Wicca turned out to be my masterclass in personal accountability. The Creed demanded that I account for every action and its reverberations. It taught me that divinity itself wasn’t just some external source, but everything was part of divinity and that I wasn’t just a spectator in nature; I was truly a part of it. It made me feel connected to the yearly cycle, and helped me to understand the previous generations who lived according to the seasons—something that we in the modern world have truly forgotten about.

Over the course of years, I went to Prague only to meet someone who turned out to be my future partner—at the time, a non-practicing Muslim. When we discussed the Big Questions, I was firm: “I will not be converting for you.” In Islam, reverting just for a spouse is not truly accepted; the change must come from your own heart, not from the heart of another. I had also fought far too hard for my own skin to change it for a person.

What I didn’t know, or even think, then was that the “calling back” the priest had mentioned all those years ago wasn’t going to look anything like the pews I’d left behind.

Part 3: The “Electric Shock” and the Crossroads of 2026

It was in February of 2012, when the logic of my life was upended. Out of the blue, whilst scrubbing the floor of my sauna on all fours, I felt something that I can only describe as a literal “electric shock” from head to toe—a clarity and certainty that I needed to revert. Only one week later, I took my Shahada in Tallinn, Estonia.

Now, in February 2026, that journey has led us to a difficult crossroads as we are considering a permanent relocation away from Finland and the modern, toxic political culture that seems to have conquered my homeland with its intolerance and outright hate.

For us, Andalucia, Spain, feels like a second home—a land where the legacy of Al-Andalus still whispers in the stones. But we are also considering Malaysia, where my wife is from.

It is a heavy, anxious decision, just like any move is. But having lived through the tumultuous years of fighting for acceptance, we are both wary. Malaysia is her heritage, but the nature of our relationship and the shifting attitudes of people make it a path filled with uncertainty. We are searching for a sanctuary where all of us—our faith, our marriage, and our history—can exist safely and without any unnecessary drama.

Part 4: The Evolution of the Storyteller

The passage of time hasn’t just changed my faith; it has helped me to refine my voice. Since the 90s, I’ve written short stories about the kind of love I thought I could never have—the kind I didn’t feel “entitled” to.

Only now, as an adult who has survived the “shocks” and the search, have I been able to refine my writing. I’m no longer writing “wishful thinking”; now I’m writing the more complex human truths found in history. As Maher Zain sings:

“O God you didn’t put me here in vain, this life is a journey and it is leading me back to you.”

Support the Stories

My life is a road tale in every sense. If you find value in these reflections, or if you want to support the research into the “hidden” histories I tell, here is how you can help:

• 📚 Discover “Buried Hearts” on Amazon — A story of love in the looming shadow of Vesuvius
• ☕ Support Open Road Tales & HaveStories on Buy Me A Coffee — Your support directly funds the research for my Al-Andalus book project and keeps our “Open Road” moving toward the next chapter.

Every “coffee” you donate, every book that you purchase, and every like & follow you give me is a message that says, “I see your journey.”

Thank you for walking a few miles with me today.